Hey everyone, this week we have Part 1 of 3 for the fiction behind Nightfall: Dark Rages – Night on the Water.
We hope you enjoy this delve into the Nightfall world, and the teaser art for next weeks preview cards. So read on, and enjoy your weekend! And remember, if you’re itching for some Nightfall while you take it easy, why not try the Nightfall iOS app?
Night on the Water, Part 1
Jarek hadn’t known where the train was going when he hopped aboard the open boxcar, nor did he know where the next one was going, nor the next. He always took care to jump out before the train reached the station; he didn’t want to hurt any humans, but they didn’t know that.
It was best to hide in the shadows, yes, all of him was in agreement about that. Over the course of several days, he and his selves had lots of time to reflect, but it seemed futile… the only memories that remained were the painful ones, of waking up on an operating table in the heat of battle, of being under the necromancer’s mind control, of killing him. That memory he grudgingly liked, of course, but none of his selves could remember their past lives. He was left with only painful memories and the need to survive—even though he didn’t live, he didn’t breathe, that human survival instinct remained.
His selves had gotten used to each other. They’d adapted to being in one body, to serving their… his best interests.
The all-too-familiar squeal of train brakes grinding against metal whined out in the perpetual darkness. Jarek got ready. As the train slowed, he jumped, tried as much as possible to curl up into a grotesque hulking ball as he hit the rocky ground. He tumbled awkwardly, probably painfully but his thick numb muscle and flesh felt very little of the impact, absorbing it easily.
He then began his lonesome march once more. Eventually, he reached a marshy seashore, and there he beheld something truly spectacular: in the distance silhouetted by the dim light of the cloud-shrouded moon he saw the city on the water. Venice.
One of his selves called out. It knew this place, it wanted to go there. For a moment he was motionless, but the strange sensation, the feeling compelled him, even against the warnings of his other selves that it was dangerous.
“No,” he thought. “This time we are doing what I want.” Satisfied that his newfound persona had made a decision, he trudged forward into the water.
* * *
“At least this old church still uses candles,” grumbled a small-framed, bald, bearded man as he unfolded a letter that had just been handed to him. The Venetian electrical grid had been offline for two and a half days now, judging by the moon’s orbit.
Holding the letter close to the candle he read:
I pray that somehow this correspondence reaches you. We lost three men trying to secure a working phone, only to find it dead. Dead… God help us, that word has become so frightening now.
We held them off for nine days, but supplies ran out. They came across in boats from Africa. We stood our ground, but they killed us and raised our bodies, and soon we were outnumbered. I will spare you the details of our escape, but we have been running north now for days. It is my greatest fear that the Lord will punish me like Moses, that I may live to see the gates of the Promised Land—His Holy City in Roma—but be unable to enter.
Say a prayer for my soul, dear brother, for surely God’s judgment is at hand. Rev. 11:18 “And the nations became angry, but your wrath arrived, and the time for the dead to be judged, and to render a reward to your servants the prophets, and to the saints, and to those who fear your name, small and great, and to exterminate those who have corrupted the earth.”
I pray that these dead have no souls, that their torment is already over. Should this letter reach you, know that God’s light still shines from Roma, if it is His will, I will see you there. I will pray that the blessings of the Saints be upon you. Keep fighting my friend, and keep your faith. My prayers are with you and your men.
P.S. I’ve sent Pescatore to deliver this letter, he is an excellent navigator and one of the fastest men we have, he has been ordered to join your unit.
God be with you,
Torero Ocho sighed, then he held the letter to the candle and let it catch fire. His friend and fellow priest Servitore Fedele was alive, but Naples had fallen.
The attack on Venice had been sudden and they were unprepared; it was much the same as Servitore Fedele described. As far as he knew, his band of eight men was all that were left of the living. Torero Ocho was stuck between a rock and a hard place, more specifically between the sea and no safe road. Standing on the second floor of St. Mark’s Basilica, he grabbed his silver-tipped pike and rushed back out to the balcony, his men were fighting a losing battle against and army of ghouls and they needed his leadership.
In a past life he had been a comandante in the Fuerzas Armadas Españolas, but there he could plan from behind a desk; here as commander, he would have to do his planning in the heat of battle.
* * *
Continued in Nightfall: Dark Rages, coming soon to a store near you!